


Nightmare

by WroughtBetwixt



Series: JohnWard Prompts [38]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Fights, Gen, Injury, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., Teen Grant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-28
Updated: 2014-10-28
Packaged: 2018-02-22 23:55:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2526362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WroughtBetwixt/pseuds/WroughtBetwixt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John was in Sarajevo all over again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nightmare

Gunfire.  
  
Running. Where could he run?  
  
Dive behind a car, explosion in the distance. Nowhere to run.  
  
A break in gunfire, running again, almost out of the city. Just a little more.  
  
Explosion, not in the distance. So close he felt his eardrums explode, felt the wind knock from him as a shockwave swept through him, as fire consumed him.   
  
“Garrett?”  
  
Pain. Horrific, shredding pain.  
  
“... John?”  
  
Blood. His blood, everywhere.   
  
“John!”  
  
A hand grabbed him, and John’s eyes snapped open, his fist already moving before he could stop it. The hit connected with flesh and bone, and there was a yelp as the assailant hit the floor. John didn’t remember much of what he did next. He remembered moving, he remembered a struggle. His mind was still racing, his heart still hammering, when everything became clearer again. John blinked, and suddenly he wasn’t in Sarajevo. No gunfire. No explosions. No attackers. Just a dark bedroom, and someone whimpering. Fuck, fuck, fuck.   
  
John focused, trying to move through the panic fog. Where was he? What had happened? He was in the corner with Grant, the teenager pressed tight against his chest with fists curled in his shirt. He didn’t know how long they’d been there. He had a busted lip, the blood still fresh. Not long. They were both shaking, their breaths quick, short gasps in the utter silence of the apartment.  
  
Swallowing, John forced himself to speak. “Grant.”  
  
Grant lifted his head, his amber eyes wet with tears John couldn’t remember him crying. John could see the uncertainty and fear, but Grant didn’t move away. He let John tilt his chin up, let John examine the injury. John felt sick when he could see the forming bruise along Grant’s jaw. He’d hit the kid hard, and it was going to be ugly. He’d done that. He’d caused Grant to look at him like that, to be hurt.  
  
“I’m sorry, Grant,” he whispered. “I didn’t know it was you. Are you okay?”  
  
For a moment, Grant studied John’s face. Closing his eyes, he moved his arms around John and buried his face into John’s neck, nodding. “I get nightmares, too,” he murmured. “Are _you_ okay?”  
  
He couldn’t reply. He didn’t know how.   
  
John wrapped his arms around Grant, his eyes stinging as he shook his head.


End file.
